For the silent uncompanioned way
Where the inn is cold and the night is gray.
But noon is warm and the world is still
Where the Kelpie riders have their will.
For never a wind dare stir or stray
Over those marshes salt and gray;
No bit of shade as big as your hand
To traverse or trammel the sleeping land,
Save where a dozen poplars fleck
The long gray grass and the well's blue beck.